"One hundred and fifty francs," said Margot, in a calm, steady voice, "not a penny less, not a penny more. Behold the quality of the black, look for thyself at the shape, see how the ribbon entwines itself, just enough and no more, as I have placed it. One hundred and fifty francs--I have spoken." "I cannot pay you now," said Louise. "You will let it lie against my little account." "_Non, non_, that I never do," said Margot. "Those who buy from _la petite_ Comtesse pay as they buy. Thou mayst, if thou dost please, Louise, buy a chapeau of Madame Marcelle; but for me, I take my black hat to another customer. She is looking at it with eyes that devour." Certainly Louise Grognan felt inclined to stamp her feet, to rage, to utter a wicked little swear; but Margot did not take the least notice. She sold the beautiful black hat to a striking-looking American girl, and the grass-green hat was purchased by Louise and put down to the account of the said young lady by Madame Marcelle. Now, indeed, her anger was at its height. She hated little Margot because she could not in the least compete with her. The grave dignity of the child was beyond her power to emulate. She of the people could not imitate that other one of the aristocrats. She might call her the little shopkeeper as much as she liked, but she really was _la petite_ Comtesse and not only the assistants in the _établissement_ adored her, but all the customers insisted on having _la petite_ Comtesse to serve them. Louise was now ripe for revenge. She hated the handsome child, who was so grave, so firm and dignified and full of that resolve which can only be called by its true name, the tone of the aristocrats. Well, well, at least Louise should have her revenge. She wrote a long letter to Tilly Raynes, telling her that she had caught Marguerite in the act, and she was only waiting for her opportunity to communicate with M. le Comte St. Juste. She thought also that it might help her a little if Tilly would give her the address of the Irish grandpère, who was also so eaten up with pride. Tilly wrote immediately, giving the full address of The Desmond of Desmondstown. "I know no such name as The," thought Louise. "I will call him Monsieur Desmond. He shall get the letter as soon as possible. I will write the letter to-day; the day after to-morrow I will visit le Comte." Accordingly she wrote in her broken English to Monsieur Desmond at Desmondstown in the County of Kerry, Ireland, but the letter fell into the hands of Fergus. He read it as best he could, smiled a little at the invincible spirit of the pushkeen and then tore the letter into little fragments. Meanwhile Louise took the opportunity to ask la Princesse de Fleury to allow her to go to see her father at the Boulevard des Italiens. La Princesse was always ready to oblige. She said the girl might have a half-holiday, but must be back by six o'clock.